


Why Kelly Robinson Quit Smoking

by orphan_account



Category: I Spy (1965)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-24
Updated: 2012-12-24
Packaged: 2017-11-22 05:27:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/606306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Every classic fandom needs its very own serious-illness-fic of dubious quality. Here you go.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Why Kelly Robinson Quit Smoking

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Keiko Kirin (sakana17)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sakana17/gifts).



> Hey, it is lovely to find a new I Spy fan, and so this is a gift for you. Please note that this is NOT, and is completely unrelated to, your official Yuletide story. This is an extra gift. Happy Holidays!

April

The first time Scotty really noticed – he'd _noticed_  before, but not noticed as in _noticed_ – the first time Scotty thought about it, they were being chased out of an arms trading center by a group of dissidents. Scotty never had to worry about Kelly, fellow track star, in these situations. Unless he was sick, or wounded, or something.

This had to qualify as an 'or something'. Out of breath, struggling to keep up. Scotty had to grab him by the arm more than once, dragging him along. He played along gamely, but the strain was clear.

And his breathing – there was something about it, not anything anyone would notice, not unless one was familiar with the man's breathing patterns, day in day out for years and years. Not even a hitch, just… a little faster than usual, a little shallower.

It was probably just a chest cold. But it nagged at Scotty, and he carefully refrained from speaking of it.

May

Living year in year out with a smoker, one got used to the morning hack. It took a few minutes upon waking to clear the gunk out of Kelly's lungs, same as Dwight, another smoker he'd been roomies with once.

Only lately, it was going on and on. It seemed to take forever for the wet, choking cough to disappear.

Kelly seemed oblivious. Scotty wondered if he really didn't notice, or just pretended it wasn't there, hoping it would go away.

 _He's a big boy. He'll go to a doctor if anything's wrong,_ Scotty thought, unaccountably embarrassed to say anything.

June

He'd never forget that day in Hong Kong.

Running, running, running – the story of their lives. Some days he grew mighty sick of it. The humidity had been playing hell with Kelly's breathing, and splashing along a muddy, damp track in search of Chang and Co. was not helping. A couple of times, Kel had slipped, and Scotty had scooped him up – it had become a habit over the past three months, and suddenly Scotty wondered why he hadn't said anything.

Their quarry slipped out of sight through the trees, and Scotty put on a burst of speed, distracted for a moment from his partner's obvious difficulties by the thrill of the chase. He dived through the foliage, latching onto Chang's legs. "Let me go, capitalist pig—" The man squirmed in Scotty's grip, slippery and strong.

"I could use some help here, Jack!" Scotty bellowed, trying to pin the wriggling man down. "How 'bout you get off your duff and—"

He froze. From behind him came the sound of strangled coughing, gasping for air.

Chang wrenched his legs out of Scotty's football-tackle grasp and pelted away through the trees, but Scotty didn't spare him a second glance. He jerked out of his scared trance – yeah, he was scared, and he didn't know why – and shoved his way back through the wet leaves, showering droplets of moisture around him, pushing them aside to see Kelly curled up in the dirt, clutching at his chest, trying to dislodge whatever it was that obstructed his breathing.

"Hey," Scotty said, squatting in the mud at his partner's side. "Hey, Kel. What's up? C'mon…" But Kelly was still doubled over, ignoring Scotty, coughing hard. "Air here's worse 'n Mexico City at rush hour, huh?" There was no response, and he lowered himself to his knees and put his arm round Kelly's heaving back, cold dread filling him. "Kel…?"

"Laying down… on the job…" Kelly gasped, finally looking up shamefacedly to meet Scotty's eyes. His own were red and teary from coughing, face pale, with red splotches on his cheeks.

But it wasn't that which scared Scotty. It was the blood that wet his lips and trickled from the corner of his mouth, dripping red and shiny off the hand he'd used to cover his cough.

July

Kelly sat ramrod straight, chin up and slightly jutting, the way he would in front of a firing squad. No less brave, and the doctor's words no kinder than bullets.

Scotty wanted to reach for him. Hell, he wanted to take the death sentence from him.

The doctor was still speaking. "Modern advances… Lucky it was in a location where we found it early… surgery… new science of chemical therapy…"

It _wasn't_ a death sentence. Scotty set his own jaw. It wouldn't be. He wouldn't let it be.

August

"Can I see him?"

"Well, you can go inside for a few moments, but I must warn you, his appearance…"

"Don't matter. We've seen each other in… that don't matter either." His lips clamped tightly together. "Can I go in now?"

It wasn't like it was the first or even the tenth time he'd seen Kelly in hospital. Occupational hazards. And remind him again why they had to go through it all, anyway? If in the end Kel was to be struck down by—

No. Just struck. Not struck down.

His fists were clenched as he walked into the ICU, clenched tighter as he saw his partner's face.

 _Kelly, Kelly, Kelly,_ was all he could think as he drank in the sight of him, alive. Kelly, all bright eyes and bright face and--just _bright,_ always coruscating with energy, whether he was radiating joy, seething with anger honed to a knife-edge or even quivering with despair turned inward upon himself—even here, even lying flat and still in amongst the machines, even pale and sallow and hollow-cheeked and grimacing under the surface of the sedation ("Miss, I think he needs more pain medication" he said sharply to the nurse on duty), even here, Scotty could see the energy vibrate and thrum under his partner's skin, just waiting to throw off this momentary weakness and burst back into dazzling life.

That was how he saw Kelly, even now, he realized as he moved forward and traced his fingers across the back of his partner's limp hand, making meaningless jokes, waiting for the moment when Kelly would open his eyes and give him one of those killer smiles. His man Kelly was just too—too beautiful for all this. It jolted him just how much he felt for Kelly, how much he wanted him out of here, how much he wanted him safe and well. That was all he wanted. All, he realized, he’d wanted for quite some time now.

“Some people,” he said softly, “will do anything to get out of writing the annual report.”

“Scotty,” Kelly slurred, half-conscious.

He reached for a joke, found he was fresh out. “Yeah.”

His partner’s eyes squinted open, blinked, took in the room, Scotty standing there, the tubes trailing from his arms. The pale lips parted. “Musta been some party,” Kelly said.

Scotty snorted helplessly. “You might say that.”

“No more blind dates for me.”

“Nope,” Scotty agreed cheerfully, pressing the bell for the nurse.

As the doctors came in, doing doctor-things, Scotty moved back into the corner, turning what he’d said over in his head. _Nope, no more blind dates, partner. Just you and me from now on._

Then he looked at Kelly, gray and wasted from the cancer, and wondered how he dared to think something like that with his partner in this condition. He’d get Kel through this, first. If he wanted to keep tomcatting around, that was his choice. But if he didn’t… Scotty took a deep breath. He would sure give him something to live for.

September

"Why, good morning, good sir."

"And a very good morning to you, Camille."

"You are a real buzz kill, you know that? How'm I supposed… to look beautiful and pathetic with you needling me every chance, _every_ chance you get, Herman? I mean, what's…" Kel had to pause for breath. "What's up with that?"

"You do not have to _kill_ yourself for a snappy comeback, y'know." Scotty marched over to the bed, but his hands were gentle as he eased Kelly into a more comfortable position and adjusted the pillow behind Kelly's head. "You gotta choose between talking and breathing, you're allowed to choose breathing, you know that? Getting the best of me can wait!"

"And spoil… my fun?"

"You have no source of fun other than making a mockery of a good and honest gentleman? Truly, I would not have expected such from your languishing self."

"Languishing?" Kelly raised supercilious brows. "I would have you know, I have never languished in my entire life. I don't know where you get these ideas, I really don't."

 

"You are most indubitably languishing. It's just pitiful, really, how you languish."

"Yeah…" The surge of energy dissipated quickly, and Kelly slumped back against the pillows.

Scotty rolled his eyes, studiously ignoring how weak Kel's voice sounded. At least he wasn't in bad pain anymore. It had been a week since the surgery; long enough for Kelly to regain the ability to speak, if only faintly. Doctor Jones had told them how the operation cut through the chest muscle, making every breath feel like a knife in Kelly's side. The hospital staff had been on the receiving end of Scotty's glare more than once, as he'd demanded they give Kel better painkillers, and made himself a pain in the backside until they did; he knew they were only doing their job, but he wouldn't watch Kelly suffer, especially since the man was too darned stubborn to ask for relief. It wasn't like the Department would go broke if they paid for a few more drugs.

The Department were being more than helpful, really; Russ had authorized whatever Kelly needed, and quietly allowed Scotty to set himself up with a cot in Kelly's room. Of course, Scotty knew why that was: he'd read anything and everything he could about the disease, fatality rates, and was aware that Russell Gabriel was only doing this so that Kelly'd have someone with him for his last days. Scotty knew what Russ could do with that idea.

Scotty leaned close, reached for the nightstand and poured a cup of water, alarmed when Kelly didn't stubbornly reach for it as was his wont.  He raised the cup slowly to Kelly's lips, withdrawing it after his partner had taken a careful sip and signaled he'd had enough by turning his head slightly to the side. He was becoming an expert at reading Kel's body language – well, _more_  of an expert, he amended. "Oh right, any excuse," he murmured. "One tiny little malignant tumor, and you expect to be waited on hand and foot."

"Not… foot, man… not… foot."

The hazel eyes drifted shut, and Scotty placed the cup on the stand, wanting to do something, anything, feeling helpless. He reached out for Kelly's hand, but stopped suddenly, going to the window and staring out blindly instead.

 _Please,_ he said silently, looking at the sky. Please tell him what to do, please get Kelly through this, please… just _please._

October

They had a couple weeks recuperation time before they’d have to find a place to stay next to the hospital for the chemotherapy treatments. By common consent they ended up in Philly. Mom hugged Scotty hard at the door, and placed her arms round Kelly gently, cooing at him and saying he was going to be fine. Kelly had allowed Scotty to tell Mom, but not his brother and sister. Scotty kind of understood.

“I want to talk about a college fund for Jo and Russell,” Kelly said one morning after breakfast, as Scotty was changing his bandages in their room.

Scotty blinked at him. “Russ is _in_ college.”

“In college, in _college,_ he’s not gonna be in college forever. He might want to set up a private practice, and that’s gonna cost money. So what I wanted to ask was—”

“Whoa, whoa.” Scotty unfurled the bandage, brought it round Kelly’s torso, lowered it to wrap another time. “You lost me back there, Heap Big Tracker. Mind pointing out the signs for the paleface?”

“Well, I would, if there were any around.”

“Kel, of what are you speaking, if I may be so bold?”

Kelly took a deep breath. “I wanted to… I’m making out my will, and I guess I kinda didn’t know what to make out for the college funds, so I, uh, I guess I’m asking if it’s okay to just name you sole beneficiary and rely on you to do what’s—”

“Wait a second, just – just wait a second. What are you talking about? Beneficiary of _what?_ What will? What—what will?”

The lines around Kelly’s mouth seemed to deepen. “Scotty, let’s not kid ourselves…”

“I am not kidding,” Scotty muttered, looking down, snipping the gauze. “I have never been more serious about anything in my en-tire life.” Briskly, he reached around to start sticking another piece of tape to Kelly’s bandage.

Kelly’s brow furrowed, his head moving slowly from side to side. “Scotty, we’ve got to face facts…”

“You go ahead and face ‘em. I do not admit to the fantasies that you call facts, you see.”

“This—you—Scotty—I…” Kelly’s nostrils flared, then he sighed and visibly calmed himself. “Look, man, this thing is a killer, and—”

“We’ve fought killers before.” Scotty didn’t raise his face from the bandages. “Come out on top every time, too.”

“It’s not like I don’t appreciate what you’re trying to do, man, but just in case, I want to make sure you—”

 _“What?_ Make sure I what?”

“Willya quit playin’ dumb! I thought you had more smarts than that, Stanley. I don’t want my Department benefits to go to some government fund just because you were too sentimental to plan for when I’m—”

“Just do not finish that sentence!” Scotty yanked desperately on the bandage, forcing Kelly forward and making him gasp with pain. “Oh, man—”

Dropping the roll of gauze, Scotty leaned forward, getting his shoulder under Kelly’s slumping head just before the man fell to the floor. Shaking, breathing hard, he brought his hand up to cup the back of Kelly’s head, his partner’s brow pressed against his shoulder as he fought for control, hair soft against Scotty’s cheek. “Sorry. Breathe, man, just breathe.” Slowly, he curled his other arm round Kel’s back in an awkward embrace. _never let go never let go_ He shook his head, filled with sorrow and regret. “Sorry. Sorry, man, I – Kel, I’m sorry, I really am, I didn’t mean to do that, but please could you just please – just… not talk about this any more?”

It was a few seconds before Kelly could speak, the gasping breaths evening out as Scotty stroked his hair and gently patted his shoulder. After a minute, the trembling hand patted Scotty’s leg reassuringly. “Okay. Okay, man. Guess it wasn’t fair to you anyway.”

Even after Scotty had let Kelly up and finished bandaging his chest, even after he’d helped him dress and they were in the living room with Mom watching TV, he flat-out refused to ask Kelly what that meant.

November

They’d been lucky to find a little motel a couple miles from the hospital. Ground-floor room, like the docs had said, because Kelly’d be too exhausted for stair-climbing when the chemotherapy really kicked in. The best thing about it, Scotty thought, was the seemingly unlimited hot water.

He emerged from the shower, toweling himself off. "I have been most generous, sir, and left you a gallon of hot water, which I advise you to utilize at the—"

He stopped short. Kelly was sitting on the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees. His scalp was patchy, bald spots showing through what was left of his hair. Handfuls and clumps littered his pillow.

Scotty just stood there, staring. The doc had told them to expect this, but somehow he hadn't expected… _this._

He didn't know how long he'd have stayed in that position if Kelly hadn't looked up at him with a forced, rueful smile. "Sorry. Not what you signed up for, huh?"

"Ah, it ain't…" Scotty swallowed his own sick feeling and closed the distance, sitting by his partner on the bed, close enough to feel the occasional tremors. He looked at the hairless patches, and swallowed again. "D—" he had to clear his throat. "Does it hurt?"

"No, no, not at all," Kelly said, patting Scotty's knee reassuringly as he slumped in relief. He couldn’t stand the thought of Kelly going through this and hurting, too. "Not in the slightest." He took a deep, shuddering breath, and Scotty snaked an arm around him, but he remained rigid. "It's just… hair today, gone tomorrow."

Scotty forced a smile of his own. "Your idea of funny is truly hair-raising."

"And here I thought we would never part."

"Aw, man, now that’s just…"

But Scotty trailed off as Kelly bent forward, away from Scotty's touch, hands interlaced, elbows locked, sliding his arms down between his legs until his shoulders almost met his knees. The bald patches gleamed in the light as Kelly's head shook slowly from side to side.

Scotty couldn't think of one little thing to say, and he wasn't sure why Kel didn't want to be touched, but he had to respect that. But sitting here like a statue, unable to help Kelly, was gonna drive him crazy in a hurry. He bolted up and took a few paces towards the window, then turned and took another few paces towards the bed, and almost missed Kelly's muttered, "…afraid."

He was on his knees facing Kelly in a heartbeat. "What you got to be afraid of?" he said loudly, smiling broadly. "Everything's gonna be fine!"

The hazel eyes slid up to meet his, and as their eyes met, Scotty despised himself for the lie. But he refused to accept what he saw in Kelly's expression. "Not lying," he said evenly, never lowering his eyes. "Gonna make it the truth. Gonna prove it to ya."

"Got the power over life and death?" Without waiting for an answer, Kelly let out a chuckle, little more than a breath. "I'm not so scared of croaking. But I'm – I don't know what's gonna happen to me."

Scotty slapped his knees. "I'll tell ya what's gonna happen to ya. First, you're going to take a shower. Then you're gonna get something to eat, and then we go out to get your head shaved clean, get you a toupee if you want one, and catch the new flick at the Rialto."

When Kelly's face rose to his again, there was a small smile on his lips – small, but genuine. "I'm not going to let you boss me around just 'cause I'm sick, you know."

"Of course not. You let me boss you around because of my natural superiority."

Kelly raised his eyebrows. "You takin' advantage of me bein' too sick to smack you in the mouth?"

"Hey, well, you know I gotta enjoy it while it lasts, Hoby."

"You are a Machiavellian."

"Gotta love ol' Mack."

As Kelly bathed, Scotty could hear him singing tunelessly in the shower, pitched to carry, "Mack the Knife", with the title character's name replaced with "Machiavelli."

December

Scotty felt sick, standing at the bathroom door as Kelly's bald head jerked over the toilet bowl. Hunched and trembling, Kelly grasped the porcelain sides and heaved again, too far gone to shut the door or even think of privacy. Merry Stupid Christmas. The toilet was enjoying the dinner Mom had sent over just fine, it had kept just great in the cold from Philly to D.C., but none of it seemed destined to “put some meat on Kelly’s bones,” as Mom had admonished him.

There was the sound of another heave from the bathroom. Holding onto the doorjamb, Scotty knew he ought to close it, but he couldn't bring himself to shut Kelly in there, alone as he threw up. He placed a hand on the knob, telling himself he was going to pull the door to, feeling like he was invading his partner's privacy somehow, but…Kelly heaved again, and Scotty nearly groaned aloud. He hated this… this poison, the doctors said it was the only chance Kel had and he was prepared to go along with them to save his partner's life, but this torture… there were some days he could hardly bear it. And if _he_ couldn't stand it, what must it be like for Kelly?

A racking cough sounded from inside, and his chest tightened – he knew coughing would be excruciating to the mutilated lungs and chest. He stood there, frozen, and then, in the lull of silence between retching heaves, he heard it – a stifled, muted whimper.

He didn't stop to think. Slamming the door open, he was on his knees beside Kelly in an instant, gripping his rigid, shaking upper arms, reaching out one-armed to rub Kelly's back. It was hardly a professional massage; he just splayed his left hand against the bunched muscles, firmly stroking up and down, the other never leaving Kel's arm as he heaved. "Easy," he said softly. "Hang in there, man."

"Hang on to what?" Kelly gasped, heaving again. "Got no… parachute."

Scotty's heart clenched. "I think I'm insulted," he said lightly.

"I was just making a funn…" Kelly broke off and jerked over the toilet again, and Scotty wrapped his arms around him, bracing his chilled, shuddering body. "Don't mean…"

"Aw, Kel, c'mon. I know you don't, just cool it, now, hmm?"

Kelly choked on another whimper, twisting Scotty's insides all over again. He bent over Kelly, trying with everything he had to soothe him: his head dropped to Kelly's bald pate, and without embarrassment, without thinking about it, he pressed his lips to the smooth scalp. "Get through this," he murmured, arms tightening, kissing Kelly's head again as he jerked wildly. "Only another four shots to go."

"Oh, _yeah?_ And that's… supposed to… cheer me up?"

Scotty barked out a surprised laugh at the put-on, whiny petulance in Kelly's voice. "You, sir, are an ingrate."

"And you've got a lousy bedside manner." Kelly's hands came up to wrap around Scotty's arms, _just kidding don't go._ "A word of advice, don't grow up to be a doctor. Your patients'll all croak."

Scotty slipped his head forward, resting his chin on Kelly's shoulder, his cheek against Kelly's, _never leaving never leaving I love you I love you_. "I notice you have improved. How sad is it that your health tonic is making fun of a pal, huh?"

Kelly exhaled roughly, the bald head falling back against Scotty. The darn heaves had exhausted him so much that he could barely move. "We have liftoff," he grunted as he helped Kelly to rise, supported his shivering body, turned on the tap as he rinsed his mouth out. _(a seedy hotel room in Seville, Kelly drugged and suffering, he should have been more gentle with him back then)_ He slipped an arm round Kelly's waist _(as Kelly had held him up, so many times)_ and pulled him in tight, leading him into their room, sitting him down. "Water?"

Kelly's head dropped into his hand. "Not sure."

Scotty poured him a glass anyway and stood there holding it. "You can always find gainful employment as a cue ball, y'know," he said.

“I can always count on you for a note of good cheer.”

“We aim to please.”

"It's going to grow back, and then my hair will once again be the envy of all around."

"That'll take some doin', as it wasn't the envy of anyone the first time."

Kelly frowned up at him. "There you go again – _needling_ me! I thought you were supposed to be some kinda Florence Nightingale, heal the sick and cheer the wounded?"

"Yeah, well, see, that is just it. I _heal_ the _sick_ , see, and _cheer up_ the _wounded_. You're outside my mandate. I can heal you, but I'm contractually obligated not to cheer you up."

"Oh, well, that explains it."

Scotty didn't know what flicker it was in Kelly's face that made him know he wanted the water, but he handed it over with alacrity. “So you gonna…” He thought better about making any joke involving food. “…watch TV?”

“Naw, I think I’ll just sit here and feel all sorry for myself.” It was no fun seeing Kelly so pale, so exhausted.

“I just got the TV Guide. A Charlie Brown Christmas is on.”

Kelly quirked a smile, eyes sparking with interest. “Always gotta ruin my plans, don’tcha?”

Scotty did smile then, broad and warm, offering an arm to Kel to help him into the living room. “Told you, Homer. It’s in my mandate.”

January

Kelly was having a flare-up, Scotty could see it as soon as he came in the room. His arm was bloated and red, and he didn't need to touch it to know it would be burning hot.

Damned poison.

He clattered down the stairs, dug out the ice and the cloths and dumped everything in a bowl of water, and came up again. Kelly still hadn't moved, hadn't said a word, lying on his back and breathing hard, like he'd have to get through the pain alone. Sometimes it made Scotty want to smash something. Why did he always act like there'd be nobody there for him? What did Scotty have to do to prove he wasn't ever going to get tired of Kelly and give him his walking papers? Setting his jaw, he pulled up a chair, wrung out the cloth, wrapped some ice in it and laid it very gently on the inflamed arm, settling an ice-cube right on the place where the needle of that blamed poison had gone in.

Kelly inhaled sharply, a tiny sound in his throat, and slumped against the pillows, the taut lines of agony smoothing from his face. Scotty shook his head, reached out and stroked the sallow face with his knuckles, brushing the hairless scalp with his fingertips. "Next time, you gonna tell me before it gets this bad?"

Kelly shook his head, weakly, against the pillows. "You shouldn't be doing this, man."

"I apologize," Scotty said soberly. "You want instead I should do my bubble dance?"

The spluttering laugh that burst out of Kelly was a _wonderful_ reward. "Can it, Groucho. I meant…"

"You meant something dumb as a box of rocks that would earn you a smack in the mouth, didn't ya?"

"There you _go_ again, threatening to hit a sick man."

"You are _not_ sick. You are malingering."

"Malingering, am I?"

"Malingering."

"Tell that to the doctors."

"I would not dream of divulging your secret."

"Why thank you, kind sir."

“Turn over, lemme do your back.” There’d just been pink patches on Kelly's skin at first, but they’d soon split, weeping fluid, fast developing into full-fledged, raw lesions. Kelly preferred doing the ones on his front himself, but Scotty hadn’t been his trainer all these years for nothing. Kelly obediently turned onto one side, giving Scotty access to his back. His touch was brisk and businesslike as he patted the prescription ointment with two fingers onto the weeping sores, wincing a little as he did so.

"You know," Kelly said tiredly, "you really don't have to do this."

Scotty was about to snap at him when inspiration struck. “You do not even know my hidden motivation.”

There it was – Kelly's self-loathing receding as he was amused despite himself. “Hidden motivation?”

“Indeed, indeed. I have, you see, an evil master-plan.”

“And what would that be?”

“Well, I figure if I make you feel guilty enough, y’see, you'll be a shoo-in to change my diapers when I'm ninety-six."

Kelly fell silent for a moment. _Finally;_ Scotty hadn't been sure there was  anything that could shut him up.

He'd finished the last of the lesions before his partner found his voice. "That would make me a hundred and four, you know," Kelly finally said.

Scotty let his smug smile show in his voice. "So?"

Kelly breathed deep, everything he couldn't say trembling in his voice. "You'd trust a hundred-and-four-year-old to change your diaper?"

"Trusted him not to shoot me," Scotty mumbled as he capped the cream and stowed it out of sight.

He was glad to hear that Kelly had no answer to that.

February

They were done with the treatments and daring to hope when the doctors found more of the tumor.

Scotty would have understood it if Kelly had refused to agree to more surgery, would have understood any choice Kelly made, but Kelly set his jaw, and signed the form.

The way he looked surreptitiously at Scotty told him more than anything else that Kelly was doing it for him.

Scotty watched helplessly as this strongest of strong man submitted to more pain, more debility, more humiliation, for… for reasons he couldn't articulate.

After the operation, he couldn't bring himself to let Kelly out of his sight. They had a cot brought in and he flat-out refused to leave Kelly's side. It hurt beyond anything he could have imagined to see his Kelly enfeebled, suddenly fragile, the lines in his face ever deeper, the strain of breathing already too much for him. Maybe, he thought, maybe he was being selfish. Maybe he should just let Kelly…

But he couldn't, he thought as he sat by him, leaning close and talking to him, making silly jokes about Camille and catching the flicker of a smile in the hazel eyes, cherishing the quirk of a smile in the wide, expressive mouth. He couldn't let him go. He was going to hold on for as long as he could, and more...

And then it hit him. Kelly was fighting just as hard as Scotty was. Harder, wading through suffering, through everything that was anathema to him. For him. For _them._ And he, Scotty, he owed it to him not to mourn – he owed it to him to give him reasons to hold on.

He pasted a smile on his face and gripped his partner's hand tighter, already making plans.

March

Kelly knew there would be no more chemical treatments. The docs said that his body, weakened by the tumors and the repeated surgeries and whatever poisons they'd pumped into him, wouldn't survive them. The best they could do was wait for the surgeries to heal, and hope.

 

Kelly had seen in their eyes how forlorn that hope was, and his own hope was that Scotty would find ways to go on after he was gone.

He lay on the motel-room couch, knowing he ought to get up and do something, the dishes maybe, but lacking the strength. He'd seen it in his partner's eyes, the same thing Kelly would have said if there had been a chance for them, but he couldn't bear to start it, couldn't speak of it, not now, not now when they would come together only to part. Once it would have been the greatest joy he could have never dreamed of, but now… Now it warmed him a little, like a sunset, like embers, that there could have been this.

He blinked as the door to the ground-floor room swung open. Scotty'd been gone most of the morning on a mysterious errand. As Kelly watched, a shadow filled the doorway. Scotty entered, butt-first, waddling comically, dragging something large and unwieldy behind him. "What artifacts or memorabilia have you got there, Seymour?" Kelly asked, amused already.

"Give—a guy—a chance—to get through the door, why don'tcha?" came his partner's frustrated voice, but Kelly caught the note of humor in it, and smiled. Only his jaw dropped as his partner finally maneuvered the towering piece of apparatus into the low-ceilinged room, barely clearing the ceiling by a few inches.

It was a projection device. Kelly'd barely gotten over his shock, staring at the spools, when Scotty'd darted out again, this time with armfuls of movie reels. It was only by reflex that he managed to run his mouth. "What in the world do you got there? I told you not to go robbing movie studios…"

"They do say laughter is the best medicine," Scotty huffed, depositing his burden on the little writing-desk, grabbing ineffectually as stray reels tumbled to the floor, bouncing across the room like rolls of toilet paper, and scurrying after them.

Kelly's mouth hung open; eventually, he laughed incredulously, shaking his head in disbelief. He kept shaking his head, surprised into silence, until Scotty spoke again. "Got Gabe to requisition 'em," he explained, still panting. "You like Laurel and Hardy, don'tcha?" He collapsed onto the couch, not waiting for an answer. "Got some Chaplin too, and Marx Brothers, only the sound don't work too well, gotta get a whole-nother-setup for that… Ol' Russell Gabriel thought he was indulging a dying man's last wish, but we're gonna show 'em, are we not?"

Kelly looked up at Scotty, grinning from ear to ear, so hopeful, and didn't have the heart to say no, so he nodded, slowly. His fond smile, though, was no lie.

April

After Kelly's release from the hospital, it was a novel sensation to be taken care of so comprehensively, and to his shock, Kelly found himself enjoying it. He usually hated being coddled and fussed over, but there was something in the way Scotty made him smile while doing it that made the situation – well, not fun, he couldn't say fun, but it relaxed him, took the sting of humiliation away. Plus… There was a strange solace, when one was weak, in being handled as though one were made of spun glass. And despite the fact that he knew he didn't deserve it, he couldn't bring himself not to enjoy it.

There was also a strangely guilty pleasure in being selfish and self-indulgent. After all, he wasn't in really bad pain now, at least not unless he coughed or moved. And yet, he still allowed Scotty to wait on him hand and foot, settle him in bed and tuck him in, help him walk inside the house and wheel him through the streets for fresh air. He should be more independent, he knew, he should stop being such a wimp, but it was just too easy to be lazy and depend on Scotty. His partner was even nice enough to make excuses for him – "healing," he called it, "giving your body room to fight. We need a KO in the third round, I’m tellin’ you. Gotta rest up while your body’s fighting the Malignant Masked Marvel.”

Man, he loved this nut. Only Scotty would call cancer that.

With enough time on his hands now, Kelly was slowly coming to the realization that being sick was different from being wounded. It wasn't that there was any difference in the Scotty-fussing quotient, Kelly thought fondly – sure, after Spain, Scotty had been with him every step of the way and then some, getting him back on his feet again. But that had been different in so many ways: there, there'd been doctors and nurses, so Scotty's attention had been limited to a few aspects, less physical than, well, mental; also, in Spain, the Department's whole aim from all the treatment had been to get him back on his feet, fighting fit so he could go get shot at some more. But this being-sick thing – it was like being in the penalty box. It might be the first time in Kelly’s life that he'd slowed down, had time to think, to take a good look around him and assess what really mattered.

The list was short, but as he let Scotty change his dressing, he found it didn't bother him a bit.

May

Kelly half-leaned against Scotty, watching Laurel and Hardy build a house, laughing as hard as his chest would allow. Scotty was laughing too, and as the house fell down on the hapless pair, he fell across Kelly’s lap and laughed till he cried.

Still laughing, Kelly looked down at his partner, rolling about with unrestrained mirth. It’d been too long that Scotty hadn’t really had a break; he felt his partner was getting tired and careworn, taking care of him. If he ever got better, he’d make it up to him.

If he didn’t, well, Scotty would just have done all this for nothing. And yet – he didn’t know about that mumbo-jumbo about laughter curing cancer, but there was no denying that laughing with Scotty did make him feel better. Maybe that was all he needed to work on, for now. Just for a little while.

Scotty’s laughter was contagious, and Kelly felt so good to see him enjoying himself that he was soon laughing again.

June

The concert hall was warm, and Kelly’s eyelids grew heavier and heavier as he became a ten-year-old again, smiling as he basked in the Merry Widow's waltz. Where had he heard it first? Berlin, perhaps, or was it Leipzig? It had been love at first sight, and he always made a point of going if it happened to be on. He didn't remember telling Scotty of it, but he must have, because here he was, bundled into warm clothes and ensconced in the opera house. 

At some point, overflowing with warmth and contentment, he felt let his head droop down towards Scotty's shoulder. He caught himself sharply, a ten-year-old again – his father had taught him how to behave at concert halls. You didn't make a sound, and you certainly didn't fall asleep, no matter how tired you were or how nice it felt; there was proper respect to be observed. Kelly felt Scotty shift next to him, and looked away.

He preserved his composure pretty well for the next few minutes, but the intermezzo was just too beautiful, and the drugs made him heavy-lidded and he closed his eyes, and the music swept him away, and he blinked awake to see the world tilted at an angle: he'd ended up resting against his partner, his head pillowed on the padded sleeve of Scotty's jacket.

"I'm—" Startled, he jerked up, for a moment with the confusing thought that he'd be in for a cold, disappointed lecture. The pain of the sudden movement scraped through his chest and he inhaled sharply, and stilled, blinking, unsure how to move.

A warm hand cupped his cheek, gently guiding his head back down to where it had been resting on Scotty's shoulder. "Whoa there, Gertie," Scotty breathed, carefully reaching over to settle Kelly's body more comfortably against his. Kelly exhaled, long and slow, as the pain receded and he relaxed, his cheek sinking into the padding of the jacket. His toupee shifted on his head, and he took a breath to steel himself against the pain of raising his arm, only Scotty's hand was already there, pushing it into place - Kelly didn't need to look to see his impish grin.  His eyes drifted shut, the strains of the waltz still filling the air around him, Scotty's shoulder under his head, warm and secure.

Toupee-adjusting had at some point evolved into cheek-stroking – a little-known Olympic sport at which his partner excelled. He'd have to tell him sometime, Kelly thought, smiling slow and lazy. Scotty's hand slowed as his fingers felt the smile, then he snuggled a little closer, linking his arm a little more firmly through Kelly's, bringing his own head down to rest on Kelly's toupee.

"If..." Kelly began.

"Hm?" Scotty whispered and immediately bent to bring his ear closer to Kelly's mouth.

"I _said,"_ Kelly breathed, "if this thing falls off, and everyone laughs at me, I'm holdin' you responsible."

The shoulder beneath Kelly's head bounced once, softly, in a silent chuckle. "You do that, Otis. You just do that."

Kelly smiled goofily in response, his muscles all dumb and relaxed like warm butter. He closed his eyes again, feeling Scotty stroking his cheek, and let the music transport him. Heaven could wait.

July

It had become something of a routine. Fresh air, they’d said, but not exercise, so as not to strain the healing lungs. Don't get short of breath, don't walk; go for rides.

Not that Kelly actually felt the ability to move more than five steps without help – and if anyone said he got himself discharged from the hospital early he'd smack them right in the mouth – but there was a great pleasure in being outside. Scotty had wangled a convertible from somebody, and they drove, away from the concrete jungle, to parks and gardens.

They’d talked about having a picnic, but not done it yet. For now, it was just the walks – Kelly would take a few steps, then ride in the wheelchair his partner insisted on bringing along, as per doctor’s orders. Taking the air – that was what Doc Jones had called it. Kelly called it taking the go-kart, being taken for a ride, taking a drive, having a chauffeur, and anything else that would lighten the burden of humiliation he felt at having Scotty wheel him through the park like an infant in a stroller.

Not that Scotty hadn’t made some choice comparisons on _that_ front, too, mainly involving Kelly’s IQ, which had just now started a fun slanging match where each of them played the ‘remember-when-you-goofed-on-X-mission’ card, both of them careful to steer clear of any missions that had been painful or tragic.

“And furthermore,” Kelly was saying with vim and vigor, “remember when that guy crashed into a sauna in Beijing straight into a swimming pool, and all you had to say about it was…” when he noticed Scotty had turned down a different path from the one he usually took. “Hey, what’s the schedule change? We got a courier mission?”

As the words left his mouth, Kelly bit down on the bitterness that usually struck unawares – his own uselessness, the fact that Scotty had abandoned his job, taken God only knew what kind of vacation to look after his worthless self. But Scotty only chuckled above him. “I will have you know,” he said, “that _that_ error was not mine, as well you know…”

“Don’t change the subject, sir. Where are we going?”

“That,” and Kelly could have sworn there was a sly smile in Scotty’s voice, “is for me to know, and you to find out.”

Kelly fell silent as the chair bumped over the gravel path. It was galling to be so helpless, and no matter how many times Scotty told him how dumb he was to feel bad about accepting assistance, he still occasionally chafed at it. His partner really wanted him to get better, and he’d be damned sorry to disappoint him, but some things weren’t…

Kelly blinked. While he’d been lost in thought, Scotty had pulled up the wheelchair against a gentle slope, a low, soft, grassy embankment leading smoothly down to the lake. A broad, shady tree stood, strong and sheltering, by the water, and Scotty wheeled them almost there. “Hold on,” he said, and unslung his backpack, pulling out what Kelly recognized as the cotton patchwork quilt that Mom had given them when they’d left. What?

He blinked, unable to quite understand. He still couldn’t understand when Scotty spread the quilt onto the grass and pulled out a blanket “so your convalescing self don’t catch pneumonia, got enough trouble as it is”, and only started to get it when the sandwiches began to come out.

“You’re kidding,” he said softly, touched beyond words. It was too idyllic. He looked at his partner, a few feet away, arranging sandwiches and pulling out bottles of something or other, kneeling on the quilt and whistling. “You should… you oughta get some – a woman to – to enjoy this, not…”

The whistling stopped abruptly. Scotty looked away from Kelly, out over the lake, fists clenched at his sides. “Sorry,” Kelly blurted. “Sorry. I don’t mean it like that.” He looked at Scotty again, shoulders slumped. “Aw, man…”

Still silence. He heaved himself out of the chair. “Do I gotta pull out the emotional blackmail?” he asked, and when there was still no answer, he knelt before Scotty, reaching out and grabbing his shoulder to steady himself as he went down. Scotty reached out for him as well, and Kelly caught his expression before he could hide it. Oh, jeez. The hurt in Scotty’s eyes was palpable, like he’d been smacked down. Nice going, Robinson – his partner was already exhausted and unhappy, and now he’d thrown his gift back in his face. “Look, Scotty,” he said gruffly. “It’s –it’s wonderful. It really is. Too wonderful for me, that was all I meant.”

“Oh, is _that_ what you meant.” Scotty was clamping down on his anger with an effort, Kelly could tell. “As long as that’s what you meant, everything’s just…” His clenched fists trembled a little.

“Scotty,” said Kelly seriously. “I’m not gonna promise to leap tall buildings, or anything. But would it make yourself feel better if I said I’d try not to say that kinda thing anymore?”

“Not enough not to say it. Gotta know it.”

“Thoughtcrime, Mr. 1984?”

Scotty looked fully at Kelly, and Kelly saw how much his words had hurt his partner. He wondered how he hadn’t seen it before. “Yeah, thoughtcrime,” Scotty muttered. “Spend half my life tellin’ you you’re worth it. Don’t mean nuthin’ ‘less you know it too.”

“Just have to keep tellin’ me then, won’t ya?” Kelly tried for lightness.

Scotty looked at him, a mere flicker of a glance, but Kelly’d had years of experience reading it. _I’m tired. I can’t keep doing this. You got to help me._

“All right.” He looked out over the lake, rested a hand on Scotty’s knee. “All right. I’m – not gonna promise miracles, but I’m gonna try.”

“You had better do that.” The guarded relief in Scotty’s eyes made Kelly wonder how he had ever put him through pain.

“I shall, and for the record? The sheer wonderfulness of this spread, man,” he smiled and gestured round, “boggles the mind.”

“Prepared as it is for an entirely worthy recipient.”

“Indeed it is,” smiled Kelly, sitting on the blanket and watching the sunlight play on the water. “Indeed it is.”

*          *          *

The sandwiches were long gone. Scotty sat with his back against the big oak, Kelly lying indolently on the quilt, covered warmly with the blanket, head in Scotty’s lap, watching the idyllic scene. The sun hung low in the sky, billowy, wispy clouds filtering the soft yellow light into a gentle glow. As he watched, a flock of wild geese flapped across the sky in a loose V-formation, disappearing for a moment into a fluffy cloud and emerging one by one, as though the cloud had created them.

He stared, mesmerized, at the sight, everything sharp and almost painfully clear: the intense blue of the sky, the stark outlines of the birds, the rustling of the tree above them, sunlight dappling through the leaves, rippling as they shimmered and danced and whispered above them. Little wavelets played on the surface of the water, making soft, liquid plashes, reflecting flashes of light from the sun and the sky. He put out his hand to touch the grass, thick and soft and cool.

And he gasped as he felt it kindle within him, the fierce flare of his burning desire for life. As though for the first time, he felt the softness of the worn cotton quilt beneath his body, felt the breeze playing around his and Scotty’s bodies, savored the warmth and familiarity of Scotty’s hand on his shoulder and the sweetness of Scotty’s lap cradling his head. He closed his eyes, awed at the intensity of it, then opened them again, unwilling to miss a moment of this life, moving his head back and forth to drink in the sensation of Scotty’s presence. Yes, here, now. He wasn’t going to go out with a whimper. He wanted to stay here, here under the sky, here on the quilt that smelt of Mom’s house, here, right here with Scotty, for years and years. And by God, he was going to fight for it.

“Kel?” Scotty bent closer to him, alerted by his motions. “You OK? You wanna go?”

Kelly looked up at Scotty and kept looking, seeing anew the wonderfulness of his slender jawline and high cheekbones and wide, earnest brown eyes, full of love and concern – concern for _him_ – and broke into a fierce, feral grin, a wild, exhilarated light in his eyes. “No.” He grabbed Scotty’s hand, tight. “I want to stay.”

August

They sat still and silent on the porch. It wasn’t really a porch – more a step that overlooked the parking lot of their ground-floor motel room – but it’d been home for longer than they’d ever been in one place now, and sometimes, the rose and gold of the setting sun above the lot edged the low roofs in light, caught the scrubby trees and illuminated the sky. Like dawn, though it was sunset.

Like tonight.

Unusual test results, the doctor had said. Need confirmation. And so they’d gone, last Monday, and Kelly had given the vampires more blood, more scans, more tests, and there had been a telephone call a few hours ago, and the doctor had said, I need to talk to you in my office, tomorrow.

Scotty was a train hurtling off a cliff. Kelly was Zen, on the mountaintop. Scotty was in agony, unable to bear Kelly’s calm acceptance. Kelly was in agony, hurting for Scotty’s pain. They stayed silent for a long time. The pink and gold faded into deep twilight. Here and there, there were stars.

“You gotta move on, man,” Kelly said, very low.

Scotty said nothing.

“I don’t want—I want you to be happy, man. You deserve it.”

“Shut up,” said Scotty, his voice strangely thin.

Kelly wanted to hold Scotty, but he was afraid one or both of them would break down. “Uh,” he managed to say, “you don’t have to worry about any arrangements. I made—”

“Shut _up,”_ Scotty choked. He shoved weakly at Kelly’s knee.

Kelly wrapped his arms around himself. He felt like hell, but he had to be strong for his partner. He really wished he could lean on Scotty right now, but if wishes were horses then beggars would ride, right? A cinder of amusement sparked at the old saw. It had been a favorite of his Mom’s. He wondered if he’d see her again, just one time.

He looked out at the deep blue sky: fathomless, living velvet, sparkling, alive with stars. It reminded him of a picture he’d had hanging on his dorm wall. When he and Scotty had gone to Amsterdam, they’d looked up the original at the Van Gogh Museum. Kelly had grumbled about how his partner would rather tour the museums than the red-light district, but his heart had lit up at the sight of the painting. The colors had pulled him in, made him a kid again, wide-eyed at the world that blazed and sparkled with light. He wasn’t an idealist; he knew there was so much that was bitter, ugly, so bad it made him hopeless sometimes. But these months had changed him. He knew it now; he loved the world, loved being alive, loved having Scotty by his side. Loved to smile and laugh and live. And love. Love, so very much.

“Big Dipper,” he finally said, pointing.

“Ursa M—major.” Scotty’s voice hitched in mid-pedantic correction.

Kelly didn’t call him on it. “It don’t look like a bear.”

“Want me to draw you a pic…”

He heard Scotty swallow, hard. After a beat, his partner scooted closer, so he was touching Kelly from shoulder to elbow. Kelly leaned in, not daring to move. “I know you failed finger-painting.”

“That… is a base slander,” Scotty breathed.

“Kindergarten dropout.”

Scotty made no answering quip, merely clenched his fists. Kelly was silent for a long time, watching the stars come out. Finally, he dared to slip an arm around Scotty’s shoulder. It might be his imagination, but flexing his arm like that hurt less than it used to. “It ain’t over till it’s over,” he said, low.

Scotty shivered; Kelly shifted in a little closer, feeling the tension humming through him like a bowstring about to snap. He patted Scotty’s shoulder, but when he felt Scotty start to shake, he stopped, just holding him. Finally, Scotty said hoarsely, “Yeah.”

“Till the fat lady sings.”

Nothing but the sound of Scotty’s shallow breathing. He didn’t know what to do, didn’t know how he’d soften the blow for his partner tomorrow; he felt so damn helpless. Physically he wasn’t feeling too bad, but that meant nothing, would mean nothing to Scotty tomorrow.

He shook his head, looking out at the stars. Too late, too damn late. He should have taken the plunge years ago, taken the risk, fallen into Scotty’s arms – the guy had always been there to catch him, always, always – held him and laughed with him and loved him. It made no sense, had no logic, but then when had anything in their lives made sense? Figured, that he’d accept everything else that made no sense, and second-guessed the one thing that would have been so right.

He wanted to say “No regrets”, and it wouldn’t even be a lie, not really. Sure, he regretted not having taken the risk—the risk, and the reward—with Scotty, but there was so much they’d enjoyed. So very much. A lifetime of happiness, more joy than most people had in a lifetime.

But he couldn’t quite bring himself to say it, and so he sat there, trying to console Scotty as best he could, looking out over the starry night over the scrubby brush and the parked cars in the lot.

*          *          *

"What we have here, gentlemen, is that rarest of all medical phenomena – a remission."

They both blinked stupidly, unable to fathom, for the moment, the meaning of simple words.

Dr. Jones smiled. "A remission isn't just the chemicals working. It's a reversal of the disease that goes beyond what one would expect with drugs and surgery."

"so… So it's a good thing," Scotty finally said hesitantly.

The doctor chuckled. "The best. It's a miracle, Mr. Scott."

Kelly frowned. "A…"

Still beaming, Jones launched into a long medical monologue. The two of them heard very little of it, but for a few phrases: "…spontaneous disappearance… suspected… tests… chemical analysis… prognosis…"

Finally, the monologue wound down, with "…any questions, feel free to call my number."

Scotty found his voice first. "So that 'something unusual in the tests'… that wasn't anything bad?"

"On the contrary, Mr. Scott. I'm sorry – I should have realized it might cause you to worry needlessly, but there's nothing worse than false hope."

Kelly cleared his throat. "When you say a remission…" he began, "does that mean…" He spread his hands in a question.

"It means, Mr. Robinson, that you're as healthy as I am, me or Mr. Scott, here. Probably a little weak from all the treatments, but that's nothing that a few T-bone steaks and some rest and exercise won't fix." The doctor smiled. "I suggest you get outside into the fresh air. I have sick people to attend to. Can't be wasting my time with a healthy man such as yourself."

*          *          *

It's a picture-postcard idyllic day as they step out of the clinic – a Bugs Bunny cartoon day, a Captain-America-saves-the-World day. A bunch of college kids are stripped to the waist in the heat, playing touch football on the vast lawns. Their shouts echo through the air.

The park outside the clinic is green, the brightness singing, the air seeming to sigh and vibrate, the kids' cries and the birdsong strangely muffled, a strange crystal clarity and stillness surrounding the two of them as they take a few tentative steps along the sidewalk.

Suddenly, Kelly can't stand being clothed, standing here next to Scotty and being separated by layers of fabric from the man beside him and from the air, from the world, can't stand not touching the air with his body, and he unbuttons his shirt and slips it off his shoulders, inhaling quickly, sharply as the sun touches his bare skin.

"Catch your death," Scotty murmurs, sliding his own shirt off his shoulders as well, letting it hang off his waist from his belt.

They stand side-by-side, watching the game, the energy humming in the air between them, the crisp air singing, electric, timeless and eternal, and yet completely now, utterly here and now and in the moment, and he's not ashamed at the tears of joy that prickle in his eyes.

He is calm and slightly surprised when Scotty beats him to it, reaching out across the sunlit distance that separates them. The touch of the hand sliding along his shoulder, kneading the back of his neck, is like a thousand times before, but the way the long fingers slip into his hair tells him that Scotty, too, has reached the same conclusion he has, months or possibly years or decades ago, when they became one body. He doesn't know how long they've been one body.

He leans his head back into Scotty's hand. "Never gonna live this down," he drawls, his words dropping easily into the crisp, bright air.

"Never gonna live _what_ down?" Scotty asks easily. Kelly's not afraid he'll misunderstand. They've never misunderstood the other's meaning, and that was even before those long dark months fused them for always.

"Lettin' you make the first move," Kelly says. "Here I am, the world's foremost, trademarked, patented Casanova and lady-killer, and you go stealin' my thinder!"

"I ain't no lady, lady-killer," Scotty smiles.

"Damn straight you ain't," Kelly breathes, edging closer to Scotty, the touch of their bare arms making him want to fall to his knees in the soft grass and give thanks for being alive. "You've never been no lady, Thelma. You're a cheap floozy."

"That right?" Scotty steps closer still, wrapping an arm about Kelly's bare back, hand curling around his elbow, and Kelly shuddered, taking a deep, hitching breath. "Look who's talking, the mother of all cheap floozies insulting my pedigree and my virtue. Well, you know what, that's good, 'cause you got the worst taste in ladies I ever seen."

"Picked _you,_ didn't I," Kelly smiles shakily, suspended in a miraculous place, unsure if he's really speaking or if he and Scotty are sharing their thoughts like in some comic book.

"The man has him some good judgment sometimes," Scotty concedes.

"Only sometimes?"

"Only _one_ time. When you picked me."

"Picked you, whaddaya mean, _picked_ you, like some kinda delicate flower?"

"Why you—You said it first!"

"Avoiding the question, Delicate Flower?"

"Hey, _anyone's_ a delicate flower, compared to you, Captain Marvel." Scotty draws a headline in the air with his hands. "The Man who Single-Handedly Beat Cancer."

"Not single-handedly, man," Kelly says, his voice a little rough. "I had help."

"That's as it may be," Scotty shakes Kelly gently, "Mr. Miracle Cure."

"Well, if you're callin' me a miracle cure for whatever ails ya…" Kelly gives a mock-leer.

"Gonna have to put your money where your mouth is."

"The man is a master of double entendre."

"The man has a dirty mind."

"Takes one…"

"You are most unoriginal, Stanley, you know that?"

“Are you gonna take my unoriginal self back home and have your wicked way with me, or I gotta file a request?”

“You just got outa your sickbed! What’s the _matter_ with you?!”

“Can I help it if I’m a normal red-blooded…”

“Anaemic!...”

“Hey, man, you heard the man! He said I was as healthy as any other man…”

They walk out of the garden together, their gentle bickering melting into the summer air.


End file.
